The Fistbump is NonOptional
by The Croc Shop
Summary: Post-film, gen. "Dude," Kirk said, hefting his fist. "Fistbump."


Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Star Trek: AOS._ This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

I'm sorry for this thing you are about to read, but not so sorry I won't post it.

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**The Fistbump is Non-Optional**

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So on the one hand, they were in a holding cell, but on the other hand, the guys who ran this place weren't smart enough to think to put the controls on the outside and _only_ the outside. Spock removed the panel obscuring the internal controls and crouched low to study its workings.

He said, "I believe it will be possible to reroute the power from--" and then there was a lot of verbal garbage Kirk didn't follow, on account of he was maybe totally drunk still.

"In brief, Mr Spock," Kirk said. "Can you bust us out?"

Spock sighed. "Correct," he said. "I am capable of 'busting us out.'"

"Dude," Kirk said, hefting his fist. "Fistbump."

"I apologize, Captain, but I must refrain," said Spock. "I have seen where your hands have been and until you have sterilized the effected areas, preferably on a subdermal level, I do not wish to be in contact with any portion of your anatomy."

Kirk's fist wavered, as did his face, but he only straightened his elbow and held his fist out with even greater resolve. This was why he was captain, and also awesome.

"It's only a little slime," he cajoled. "What could it possibly hurt?"

"Oh, my God, where do you even want me to start," said McCoy, popping up from the darkness to glower menacingly at Kirk, like a dad - dads did that, right? - or a crazy boyfriend, a crazy hot boyfriend with a crazy eyebrow. Crazy boyfriends totally did that; that was basically his sophomore year of high school right there. Kirk was maybe still a little woozy from the Jhondian ale.

"One, we have no idea what that vat contained, that vat you jumped into, by the way, because you are a grade-A certified, drunken _moron_--"

"Bones, is that really the way you should be talking to your captain?" Kirk said.

"His statement is not without merit," Spock said absently. Just threw it over his shoulder, like it ain't no thing.

"You guys are bastards," Kirk said. Well, fine. McCoy and Spock could just be each other's best friend from now on and they could talk about medicine and science and ponies and stuff, and meanwhile Kirk would just be like three times as awesome without anyone holding him back. He could go down to engineering and get totally hammered with Scotty and Keenser and Gaila, although he had vague and troubling not-memories of the last and only time he had done that. Keenser on the ceiling? Someone transported into a wall. Scotty crying into his whiskey and talking about his feelings.

That Jhondian ale was really sticking with him.

"That Jhondian ale is really sticking with me," Kirk said.

"Yeah, we can smell it," McCoy said. "Oozing out your _pores_, Jim."

"I can quit whenever I want," Kirk said. His elbow was getting a little stiff, but he refused to lower his arm.

The interior controls beeped twice, then fell silent, and the cell door swung open to reveal freedom, sweet freedom, which looked like a long and poorly lit hallway and smelled an awful lot like urine and low quality air freshener.

"All right, let's get the hell out of here before you throw up all over yourself," McCoy said, because he was a feeling guy.

"I concur. Your odor is significant enough as it is," said Spock, because he was not a feeling guy.

"No," Kirk said, because he was a guy with priorities. "I am not leaving this jail cell until I receive a fistbump."

"You have got to be kidding me," McCoy said, and Spock said, "Surely you are attempting to deceive me," and then they looked at each other warily, like all this getting along was starting to freak them out a little. It was okay; Kirk understood; he was a little freaked out, too.

"Gentlemen, I have never been more serious in my life," Kirk said. "Fistbump, now."

"Jim, you're drunk," McCoy said in his nicest Nice Doctor voice, which wasn't nice so much as condescending and mildly irritated, but ready to ramp up to plain old irritated.

"I'm making this an order." Kirk fixed them both with the old Kirk steely eye. "One of you is going to give me a celebratory fistbump in the next minute, or so help me God I will not budge from this cell."

"Until you pass out and we _drag_ you out," McCoy growled.

Spock just looked pained, in so much as he ever looked pained.

"Guys, come _on_," said Kirk. "One fistbump. It's not going to kill you, probably." He acted on instinct and pouted; that always worked with the girls and a not insubstantial percentage of dudes. What could he say, he was a popular guy.

"Are you going to cry if no one fistbumps you?" McCoy said. "Will this destroy your self-esteem?"

"I'm a sensitive man, Bones," Kirk said. "A sensitive man with needs. Among them the need to hella fistbump."

McCoy turned on Spock and lifted his eyebrow, to which Spock said nothing, but lifted his eyebrow in turn, and then they had a really intense conversation with their eyebrows, apparently: an eyebrow up here, an eyebrow down there, like they were world-class eyebrow gymnasts and this was the final round for the world cup. Belt? Gold tweezers. Kirk was way too drunk for this.

"Fine, goddammit!" McCoy snarled, his eyebrows all smooshed together in the center. He whirled around and smashed his fist against Kirk's. "_There_. Can we go now? Before we all catch Gumbrunian's plague down here in this Christ-forsaken cesspool."

"Bones," Kirk said, dropping his arm, "you are the man with the plan. The _excellent_ plan." His knees buckled. So did his waist. The stone floor wasn't so bad, he thought. It was actually kind of refreshing.

McCoy started swearing, but what else was new.

Spock said, "This has been a most illuminating experience," in a voice so dry it made Kirk thirsty, although maybe that was the dehydration.

"I am not looking forward to this hangover," Kirk told the floor.

"Neither am I," said McCoy, but by then Kirk was already mostly asleep. It had been a long day, full of adventure and excitement and good times; he deserved a little downtime.

And tomorrow, he thought as he drifted into the slumber of the well and truly sloshed, would be _even more awesome_.

*

The hangover disagreed.

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This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/26/2009.


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